


black invitation for this place that cannot change

by dianaagron



Series: fairytale au [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Garrett is an asshole, Parent Melinda May, Parent Phil Coulson, Romance, Sexual Tension, Skye-centric (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), and some of ward's gestures, but what's new really, idk i'm gonna stop now, like a couple of thoughts skye has, skye is a princess, super slight hints of dark!skyeward, there's a lot of sexual tension, ward is a knight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dianaagron/pseuds/dianaagron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She lets out a sigh as soon as she spies a couple of maids waiting right by the door of her room with heavy fabrics hanging on their forearms, just as she remembers why she didn’t particularly want to wake up that day.</p><p>The ball."</p><p>Skyeward fairytale au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	black invitation for this place that cannot change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatbluebox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatbluebox/gifts).



> my secret santa gift for my friend Lizzie, I really hope you'll like it  
> goes together with this [gifset](http://wardskye.co.vu/post/106171202830/if-im-red-riding-hood-what-does)

It’s mid morning when she wakes up.

There’s a frosty breeze coming through one of the cracks of the window wood and it’s caressing the skin of her bare shoulder, right where her nightgown or her sheets are not covering her. It takes a couple of minutes for her to decide that there’s no going back now: she can’t fall asleep again, so she finally opens her eyes (one at a time, of course).  
She lets out a sigh as soon as she spies a couple of maids waiting right by the door of her room with heavy fabrics hanging on their forearms, just as she remembers why she didn’t particularly want to wake up that day.

The ball.

She had told them as soon as she found out about it (she eavesdropped the stable boy telling a maid) that it was a bad idea. Just because she was coming of age, it didn’t mean that they had to organize an entire ball in her honor. They, meaning her father and mother. They, meaning the king and queen of the realm.  
It was a bad idea, especially because they weren’t even sure that today was her actual birthday, you know, since they had found her in the woods eighteen years prior that moment, when she looked just a few weeks old. And it wasn’t even like she had a note in her diaper at the time with her birth date written on it.

(They had named her Skye because “they felt like she was a gift from the sky”, because yes, they were cheesy like that.)

She shuts her eyes once more and turns to the mattress, burying her face in the pillow while, by the almost too silent sound of the maids’ footsteps, they come closer to her bed. She barely registers what they’re telling her (some crap about what her father the King said and how her mother the Queen expects her to behave) before standing up and letting them take care of her appearance. Then it’s a hour and a half later and she’s walking down the snow-covered field near the stables, in the back of their castle.

Her face is half covered by the hood of the cape she’s wearing to protect her from the cold, at its red velvety fabric reminds her of blood, in contrast with the pure white of the fresh snow under her feet. When she looks up, she finds her father waiting for her by the doorstep of the kitchens, there in the back. She should find that sight strange (Kings are not supposed to hang out by the kitchens), but then again they were never conventional royals, and the servants don’t even wince at that kind of behavior displayed by their rulers anymore.

“You’ve always looked good in red, just like your mother.”, she hears her father say, and she can’t do much but roll her eyes and smile at him. That’s what he does, compliments her and make her feel good when he knows she has to do something she despises.

“It’s not gonna work.”, she says, but he’s taking his hand out, offering it to her and she grasps it. He steps forward and the snow crunches under their feet. It’s kind of a tradition for them to take a walk outside, it reminds the both of them of the old times, when she was little and he used to play with her in the fields right after the first snow of the season.

“If you think I’m going to find a husband tonight –“, she starts, but a quiet sigh from her father’s part stops her before she can even finish the sentence.

“Angel eyes, do you really think so low of me and your mother?”, she can hear a fake wounded tone in his voice and she pouts.

“Why else would you put me under such torture?”, she lets out, and her voice, in the contrary, is really annoyed, not just pretending.

“Because we want to celebrate your birthday, and as strange as it seems to you, a ball is the protocol way to celebrate the heiress of a realm. Besides, everyone has been dying to know how you look like these days, they haven’t seen you in forever, especially since you decided to run away when we were waiting for you to come down on your sixteenth birthday.”

She suddenly stops walking, while her father takes a couple more steps forward on the field. She had forgotten about that, thankfully. Her mother was furious when she had come back the following night, a knee bleeding and a her cheek bruised. (Her father didn’t talk to her for three days, and that was how she knew she had crossed the line.)

“You’re not planning on pulling something like that again, are you?”, he asks, turning back to face her with a concerned look painted on his features. She meets his eyes and a sudden, unwelcome stinging feeling of duty invades her. She wants to stump her feet and whine, but she’s not a kid anymore, so she just frowns and shakes her head.

“I’m not.”, she states after a few seconds. She owes him at least that.

The King looks at her with a big smile on his face, one of those smiles he reserves just for her and his wife, those smiles that make the skin near his eyes wrinkle. When Skye rejoins his side she locks his arm with hers, and lets her head rest on his shoulder.

 

***

 

At lunch they decide to eat in the summer dining room (it was her decision, and the King knows better than to tell her it is a bad idea), because it has started snowing again and the big wide windows of the room allow her to see the snowflakes falling and covering everything they find on their way.

“Phil?”, her mother’s voice breaks her trail of thought and her eyes land on the plate full of delicious food in front of the Queen. She follows the motion of the servants bringing her a selection of dishes and she’s not quite sure about how she’ll be able to move a single finger later that night at the ball if she has had so much to eat then.

“Yes Melinda, dear?, Skye doesn’t pay too much attention to the exchange between her parents; she catches a couple of things on the lines of “the Duke of somewhere is gonna show up with the Countess of someplace” and other details about later that weren’t her priority (that being: eating as much as she could and still be able to fit her ball gown).

“Skye?”

“Mmhm?”, Skye looks at her mother, her fork still halfway to her mouth. A judging look from the Queen makes her drop the fork gently, sitting it on the plate and folding her hands on her lap, offering an apologetic smile at her parents’ direction.

“Are you aware of the fact that, like it or not, tonight there will be eligible men trying to get to know you better?”, says the Queen matter-of-factly, and Skye does nothing but shoot a look at her father, who seems to be too busy enjoying his lunch to say anything. She grunts.

“Father said that you’re not throwing this party to find me a husband.”, she replies as soon as her eyes land on her mother’s, who simply nods at her statement.

“And he’s right, but that doesn’t mean the guests won’t have that in mind.”

Skye sighs, not knowing, for once, how to reply. She gets it: she is the heiress of a realm and she is of age, it’s already singular enough that she isn’t promised to someone yet, so it’s just common for the royalty invited to bring with them their unmarried relatives. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that she absolutely dreads the idea of being surrounded by gentlemen only interested in her inheritance rather than in her personality.

“Just promise us you’ll behave.”, her mother adds, and this time her father stops eating to look back at her. If she was going to reply that she’s not twelve anymore, she changes her mind soon enough. Instead, she nods.

“Trust me, I will.”

She really doesn’t want to let them down, not again.

 

***

 

_This is how it works: after lunchtime she gets a couple of spare hours to spend as she likes, after that she has to be back in her quarters to let the maids take care of her, bathe her (she always insists that she can do so alone without their help, thank you very much, but that never seems to convince the girls to leave her room, ever), help her wear the dress that their parents chose for her (she was free to choose three different choices, but the final decision was theirs to make) (she wishes it wasn’t) (but she stopped complaining after that one time a Duchess from the other side of the seas had mistaken her for the daughter of the royal painter), fix her hair in some intricate hairdo that she always thinks is too uptight and unfitting for a teenager, and then – finally – give her the talk._

_This is what the talk consists of: after the maids are done getting her ready for the ball, her tutor comes in in all her frightening glory (she’s a really strict lady, Ms. Hand, with her mouth always drawn in a still line. Skye doesn’t think she’s ever seen her smile in all the years she’s known her) (she can guess why her mother the Queen has always been so happy to have found a tutor like her for her daughter) to remind her of the etiquette and how to behave during a social event like tonight’s ball. Who to bow down to, how to refer to the different kinds of nobility, and such. Skye nods every once in a while and sometimes finishes off Ms. Hand’s sentences, that way she’ll think she’s prepared to confront the storm of royalty who awaits downstairs and maybe – just maybe – tomorrow she’s not going to lecture her starting with a “I told you, when you talk to a knight it’s always…” etcetera, etcetera._

 

***

 

“And then I turn around and he’s just… gone!”

Fitz looks at Skye with his eyes wide, but she’s not really sure about what the young physician is telling her (she lost her trail when he started using those words only Jemma understands) (speaking of Jemma, Skye spots her a few feet away, hidden by two tall figures). She grips Fitz’s arm and – not so royally – pulls him through the crowd, walking towards their friend.

“Fitz!”, Jemma’s eyes widen in pleasant surprise as soon as she notices him, then a confused look follows. “Skye? Are you supposed to be here talking to us? Isn’t your duty to go greet the gue-“

“Jemma!”, Skye cuts her off with a pleading look. She managed to let the maids leave her hair down with just a braid crown accompanying the small tiara sitting on top of her head, which means that she can hide her face easily with her locks if she just looks down enough.

“I was just taking a break.”, the princess adds soon enough, when the guilt of having used such a harsh tone with her best friend (not to mention: one of the only two friends she got) starts to creep on her way. Jemma offers her a reassuring hand, squeezing the princess’ one with her own.

“You’ve been wonderful. Remember to act properly and everything will be just alright.”, she says with her cute foreign accent, and Skye can’t do much but smile back and sigh loudly. She really needs to stay strong, everyone’s counting on her.

“Hey Skye, when this is over do you want to sneak in the kitchens?”, she hears Fitz’s words and somehow they’re enough to give her some strength.

At least, her friends know how to motivate her.

 

***

 

She’s by her father’s side when the hundredth guests come to introduce themselves.

“Well, well, well, isn’t that old King Phillip?”

Her father’s eyes spark with recognition when a tall, stout man makes his way to them. His eyes are fixed on hers and Skye hopes she won’t be experiencing a “look how much you’ve grown” speech. (Thankfully that’s not the way it goes.)

The man is the first one to bow down – which means his nobility rank is lower than hers and her father’s – then he’s shaking hands with the King.

“Lord John Garret. Can’t believe you finally made it – what is it, decades since I last had the pleasure to see you.”

“Must be, that’d explain your lack of hair, your Highness.”

There’s the sound of laughter and Skye feels lost, not knowing who that man is or where he was from. Not that she knew every acquaintance of his parents, but they did fill her in beforehand with who would be coming to the ball (but then again, maybe she should’ve listened a little better when her parents or Ms. Hand were talking).

“My daughter, Skye. I don’t believe you’ve ever met her.”

The King turns to her, embracing her waist with his right arm and then Lord Garrett is looking at her, a strange kind of smile on his face. It reminds her of those smiles people wear when they’re telling a joke, or when they’re messing with you. She guesses that’s just his way to smile.

“I’ve heard so much about you, it’s nice to put a face to the name.”

He bows again and Skye has to keep herself from coming off too sassy – that’d be bad, especially in front of her father.

“I hope you only heard good things, my Lord.”, good job Skye, well done. You can do it.

Lord Garret smiles again and raises an eyebrow. “Very. A lot of them about your extraordinary beauty. I must say, they weren’t lying when they said your daughter is stunning, almost like she’s from another world….”

Skye’s mouth falls open for a moment before her father beats her and speaks up. “If I didn’t know you better I’d say you’re trying to hit on my daughter, Garrett.”  
It’s a funny tone, the one he uses, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his eyes that tells Skye he’s not completely joking.

Lord Garrett puts his hands up in surrender and lets out a laugh.

“Believe me, if I were I wouldn’t have brought my knight in shining armor right there.”, and with a gesture of his arm, he pointes the royal family to a tall young man a few feet behind him, who is eyeing carefully with his brows furrowed every corner of the room.

Said knight must have sensed three heads turning towards him because he quickly does the same, now facing Skye and the two older men. Lord Garrett nods almost imperceptibly and the young man takes a few confident steps their way, his chin high and shoulders relaxed. Skye tilts her head on the side to get a better view of him over Lord Garrett’s silhouette, but she quickly straightens herself again when his eyes lay on hers and pierce her head.

He is introduced by Lord Garrett once he is on his side, so still that Skye wonders if he is actually real or just a statue.

“This is sir Grant Ward, my knight and counselor.”, Lord Garrett explains as sir Ward bows to the King first and then turns a little to his left to bow down to Skye, who lets out a feeble “please” as their eyes meet once again.

She feels distracted from then on. She feels her eyes being drawn to his figure and finds it hard not to stare at him for minutes straight. He’s handsome, she’ll give him that, but there’s also something frightening about him, something that makes her shiver every time he lays eyes on her or answers directly to her. Skye knows she should be annoyed by the fact that Lord Garrett probably brought Sir Ward just for the purpose she despised so much: a marriage, but she can’t help but feeling attracted to him.

Maybe the ball wouldn’t be that bad after all.

 

***

 

“Your highness, may I have this dance?”

His hand awaits to hold hers as her eyes find his round, brown ones. She’s usually not so quiet, but then again, she’s usually avoiding being asked for a dance.

“You might.”, she answers, and there’s something electric in the way his rough skin feels against her delicate one.

His hair is dark and pulled back in a classic way, he’s dressed in dark colors and she’s not sure if that’s just his knight attire or his choice, she’s just aware that something about him screams danger and she’s a princess waiting for an adventure. Waiting for escape.

He’s looking at her and this time she doesn’t back down, instead she smiles and leans a little against him, just as much as the song playing in the background allows them to (after all, she still has to follow the etiquette, and she’s sure Ms. Hand is eyeing her carefully from wherever she is standing) (she always seems to have eyes everywhere).

He puts a hand on the small of her back and she suddenly feels numb everywhere but in the place where his hand is resting.

“So, was it your idea or Lord Garrett’s to come along?”

The words leave her mouth before she can truly conclude that that’s the best way to start a conversation with the knight (it clearly isn’t), but the man doesn’t seem impressed.

“He was invited, I am his guard. Seemed like the most natural choice.”, he replies with a cocky grin that throws Skye off a little. She didn’t expect him to be so sarcastic, him being so stiff and formal earlier.

“Who decided to let your Highness wander outside the castle during her birthday ball?”, he asks then, shooting a look down at the floor. It takes Skye a couple of seconds to understand that it’s not the floor he’s staring at, but the points of her shoes that stick out of her long cream and maroon dress, which are covered in dried mud.  
She looks back up at him, grinning.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He stares into her eyes and suddenly she’s spinning, his grip being her only anchor. They dance for what feels like a lifetime (she has surely never danced that much her whole life) and she has to stop sooner or later or she’ll make her parents start thinking unwelcome thoughts, and she doesn’t want to deal with that.

“Are you going to have me dancing all night just to make me feel dizzy, sir?”, she asks between a song and another, when his hand leaves her palm and she feels cold and empty.

“I would never dream of it, my princess.”, he says, but something in his eyes makes her believe otherwise.

 

***

 

“Who was that?!”

Jemma’s muffled request sounds curious and excited when it reaches Skye’s ears. The princess looks at her friend with an hard look that is meant to shut her up, but it actually has the contrary effect, making Jemma squeal.

“For all the gods’ sake, Jemma!”, she curses under her breath, physically dragging her out of the center of the room where the smaller one had run as soon as sir Ward had left Skye to get some drinks and “let her rest”.

“He’s Lord Garrett’s knight.”, she starts explaining once they’re out of everyone’s way, Jemma looks at her with her eyes shot wide.

“ _That_ Lord Garrett?”, she replies with a gulp. Skye is just lost at that point.

“How many Lord Garretts am I supposed to be aware of?”

“Skye! Have you ever listened to your father? The two of them practically grew up together, even fought side by side during war. Lord Garrett has always been one of your father’s most trusted allies.”

Jemma’s excitement is palpable. Skye is just skeptical.

“So?”

“So! He decided to withdraw from public life after the last war. Said he had already aged enough during battle, or something like that.”

Skye looks at her friend with a brow arched, folding her arms as much as her tight dress permits her to.

“How do you know all these things?”, she asks, genuinely curious. Jemma just looks unamused.

“I listen. And Fitz once told me that when he was going through the books in the royal library he found this really interesting piece containing all the data and details of the wars that touched your kingdom and your father’s name and Lord Garret’s appeared a lot in the last parts.”

“That’s… nice?”

Jemma rolls her eyes and Skye shrugs her shoulders. It has always been like that, her friend would start talking about something incredibly interesting for her but so boring for the princess. The thing is that, while Jemma is content with her life in court, Skye isn’t. She wants to see the world, to cross the lines of their realm, to smell foreign forests and get lost at the sight of the seas. She wants to feel the rush of not knowing what tomorrow will bring.

But, most of all, she wants to feel alive.

 

***

 

She feels alive when she’s riding her horse through the part of the forest she’s allowed to visit. She always stops for some minutes when she reaches her alt point, there she wonders what would happen if she got farther away.

She’s never found out.

(Until now)

 

***

 

He finds her on the balcony half filled with snow that is still falling lazily from the sky.

“Aren’t you cold, your majesty?”, he asks her, but she knows better than to believe he’s really concerned.

“Better be cold than sweaty.”, she says. (Better alone than surrounded by people I don’t know that I have to greet, she means.) He nods. (He gets it.) (It’s not that different from what he feels every time he has to go with all those receptions with John..)

Her hands are resting behind her on the top of the balustrade, and she really doesn’t mind how cold her fingers are getting. She will probably be tied to her bed with a cold the next day (no matter her long hair, her neck and décolleté are still exposed thanks to the low cut of her dress), but now she can’t bring herself to care. She studies him as he gets closer, finally stopping once he’s standing next to her.

The top buttons of his shirt are open and his chest is exposed, but Skye is sure that the knight could have every woman’s attention even with his armor on. There’s something regal about his attire, maybe it’s the way he carries himself, always with his chin a little up and his big shoulders like free of weight, maybe it’s his confident step, or the fact that, despite her being the princess and him being just a knight, she’s always the first one to look away.

“Princess doesn’t enjoy her ball, I see.”, he comments in his low voice, and when Skye looks up into his eyes she sees something different she hasn’t spot before (the tiniest bit of the hint of a smile).

“Do you blame me?”, she asks him right away. He shrugs, turning around in order to look at the landscape from the balcony.

There’s silence but it’s not heavy. Almost familiar, and not inconvenient. Skye looks at his face but she can’t read him. She wonders who he is, what made him become Lord Garrett’s protégé. How many battles he fought (can’t be that many – he’s not that much older than her), how many scars he wore. Then he turns.

“Why is a princess spending her birthday with a knight?”

The question catches her off guard.

_What she thinks: I don’t know. I never find anyone interesting during these events. Nothing challenges me anymore. I know nothing about you. I want to find out who you hide behind those dark eyes and big arms._

What she says: “Let’s find out.”

Then he smiles. And it’s a wicked one.

 

***

 

She doesn’t know how they manage to, but they successfully sneak out of the room full of guests she can’t name. Maybe it’s because he’s so big compared to her and she actually can hide behind is back, or maybe it’s because he knows what he’s doing, he knows how to pass by unnoticed by others (she’s now sure how – she’s can’t believe people can be able to not notice him when everything about him is so magnetic), but now she’s running upstairs to her quarters to fetch her cape and she’s praying the servants aren’t going to ask her questions.

But then again, she’s the princess, she can always make them swear not to say a word.

She suddenly feels self conscious when she’s walking down the corridor the leads to her bedroom, she can almost feel the burn on the back of her neck where his eyes are fixed.

She turns.

He’s closer than what she thought.

She stares at him wide-eyed and she puts her hands in front of herself to stop him, somehow thinking he will crash because of her sudden motion, but he stops just in time, and his face doesn’t show any sign of surprise.

He smirks.

“Why so afraid, princess?”

She lets her arms fall down to her sides. She tilts her head and her eyebrow shoots up.

“Because of all the reasons in this world.”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he leans toward her and stops just right as his mouth brushes her ear. His breath sends shivers down her spine and Skye has to grasp the fabric of her long and heavy skirt to keep steady.

“Keep your head down and pretend to be really into what I’m saying.”, he lets out slowly. Skye watches his hand as it rises and lands on her upper arm, gently stroking it (Skye’s pretty sure he’s breaking a hundred rules of the etiquette, and she feels an immediate rush at the thought).

She does what he has told her to. Her hair falls onwards as soon as she turns her head down and smiles, biting her lower lip. The sound of footsteps fill the once empty corridor, followed by laughter.

“Oh!”, an unknown voice exclaims, and the giggling suddenly stops. Skye turns just slightly to the left to see what is going on, just to crash onto sir Ward’s body, still bent over her; she needs a moment to steady herself, not brave enough to look up into his eyes, and right when she is about to open her mouth to mutter a “sorry”, the stranger’s voice speaks up again.

“Guess this corridor is already taken.”

It takes a couple of seconds before sir Ward releases her, and when he does, once again Skye feels emptiness where his hand had been earlier. He takes a step back to give her enough space to turn and spot a couple running to the ending of the corridor and turning, leaving her sight (the color of their clothes tells her they sneaked out from the kitchens) (they probably thought everyone would be busy in the great hall for the ball) (she envies how unnoticed their absence would be).

“Didn’t you have something to take?”

(My freedom)

“My cape.”

She finds it laying on the box at the end of her bed, right where she’d left it that morning, When she looks up, she finds sir Ward standing on her doorstep, laying with his shoulder on the doorframe.

“Didn’t anyone taught you that you’re not supposed to be in the princess’ private room without her permission?”, she asks while wearing her hood, fixing it in front of the tall mirror from where she can also spot his figure, half hidden by the shadow (the only light in the room is from a candle lit near her which only illuminates her).

“Wasn’t she giving me permission when she asked me to ease her out of her misery?”

She can almost hear the grin on his face while he replies, and her reflection on the mirror shows her a determined, alive look. She feels him getting closer in silent steps and when he’s behind her, his face is only half illuminated by the feeble light of the candle. She tilts up her head and looks into the reflection of his eyes on the mirror (his are already fixed on hers when she does).

When she takes her hand up, he grabs it like he was just waiting for that motion to happen.

“Looks like we’ve got a little red riding hood.”, he comments, still looking at her through the mirror. She breaks his gaze and turns her head to look at his hand trapping her smaller one.

“If I’m red riding hood, what does that make you?”, she asks, and she doesn’t miss the tiniest squeeze of his hand.

With a swift motion he pulls and in a heartbeat she spins and lands in his arms, her free hand open on his chest.

His eyes are deep and just as dark as his hair and she swears she could stare at him surrounded by darkness forever.

He doesn’t let go of her other hand. He brings it up up up with his fingers still entangled to her own until his lips almost touch her skin. He grins and his irises are burning.

“The big bad wolf, of course.”

It’s only then that he kisses the back of her hand.

 

***

 

She runs through the snow covered field in the back of her castle. She runs until the lights coming from the windows of the kitchens are only small points in the distance. She runs until she can only hear the sound of her heavy breathing and the crunch-crunch of her steps on the snow.

He follows her until the line of the trees gets so close that he can smell the forest. He follows her under those heavy branches that stop most of the snow from falling on top of them (some snowflakes are still tangled in their hair and shoulders though). He follows her until she stops behind the wide trunk of a tree.

She lays with her back to the trunk and everything goes still but her fastening breath when she turns her head to see where her dark knight is. She doesn’t see him.

(He’s a wolf.)

She doesn’t hear his steps when he circles her perimeter, she only feels the rough surface of the trunk under her palms.

(He’s a hunter.)

She swears she hears a howl in the distance and it makes her turn her face the opposite way just to find nothing in front of her.

(He’s behind her.)

“Careful, princess.”

His voice is so low that is almost just a whisper, and it makes her blood and boil when she shifts to join him on the other side of the tree.

The skirt of the gown is big and loud, tracing a path on the untouched ground. If there was some light other than the moon’s, he could have appreciated the refined details sewn on the silky fabric of the gown, but darkness is embracing and cuddling them and neither of them seem to mind it.

When she’s in front of him he takes his time to attack (she isn’t like that, she would’ve made her move as soon as she set her eyes on him) (she thinks it’s a tactic, the way he is slowly driving her insane with the riddles and the chasing). He’s leaning back on the tree, his arms are folded against his chest and a knee is slightly bended and the way he’s looking at her with his eyes fixed on hers and his head turned a little down screams danger.

He flashes a smile and as she flinches she unconsciously takes a step back.

(He’s a wolf.)

He traps her with ease, catching her wrist in an almost bored motion. Like he’s used to chasing and winning.

(He’s a hunter.)

He pulls his arm back, taking her with it, and he traps her in his grip.

(He’s behind her.)

His chest is pressed against her back and into his arms she feels a million times smaller, incapable of moving a single finger or trying to escape. He holds her like a prey and like a prey she gives up fighting.

His breath on the skin of her neck keeps her warm in a new, thrilling way. She finds it natural to lean against him, letting her head fall back on his shoulder (he’s so tall and handsome) and exposing her bare neck. When he bends his head down his stubble scratches her skin and she doesn’t mind it.

It’s like a flash and it hits her unexpectedly how dangerous he really is. What he is capable of.

“Have you ever killed anyone?”, she says in a rush and she suddenly feels so stupid because he’s a knight, Skye, of course he’s killed people. Your father killed people as well, why would this be any different? But it’s the way in which he answers that makes her shiver against him.

His lips move against her earlobe and he whispers his response. He mouths two single words (“a few”) and the uncertainty of it, the ambiguity that those two words hold make her fear for the first time for her sanity (not her life, never her life) (if he’s a wolf, she’s a fox).

She grasps her skirt in a hard way when his lips trail down her neck, never touching her skin. She’s sure she never wanted him to drive her insane when she asked him to help her leave the castle, but somehow she doesn’t find the will of telling him to stop.

It’s a sweet ride she’s taking and it leads to the unknown, and for the first time in her life princess Skye doesn’t know what she’s going to see next.

He notices the way her hands are tightened around the fabric of her skirt and he lets his own strong ones travel over them, finding her fingers and tangling them between his. She’s weak under his touch, and he takes his clue when a small sigh escapes her lips.

She never thought that the feel of his lips against her skin would be so intoxicating. He starts leaving kisses down her neck, in every free spot he’s able to reach, under her jaw and down on her naked shoulder and it’s already enough to make her insides squirm.

Her deep breaths makes her chest rise and fall in slow excruciating motions and she feels every part of her on fire, every nerve sparkling and vibrating. She wants to feel feel feel and that is not enough.

When she turns to face him, he doesn’t let her stay in front of him. He switches their positions, making her lean back on the trunk of the tree while he traps her with his body and his arms stretched on her sides. She tilts her head up, she wants to touch him, but when she gets closer he pulls back, showing her a teasing grin instead. She’s about to open her mouth to tell him to quit it when he bends down (how is he so tall?) and touches her mouth with his.

There’s nothing sweet about it. He’s hungry and she’s pleading him to go further. The thought that he must had done this a thousand times already grazes her mind but doesn’t keep her from parting her lips to give him access when he hasn’t asked for it yet.

He doesn’t waste time. He picks her up, feeling her bare skin under the skirts. If they’re supposed to be cold, being in the forest in the middle of the night, they don’t feel it. Skye’s scarlet cape lays forgotten at their feet and all the buttons of Ward’s shirt are now undone.

Her grip is on his head, her fingers hold his hair in an aggressive way that reflects how he’s clutching her thighs (he squeezes and she grunts against his mouth) (he smirks as the grunt turns into a moan).

(It’s this thing he did with his hand – slowly traveling it up up up until it touches right where Skye feels more needy, right where she’s not supposed to be grazed.)

Moans turn to irregular breaths when the princess is able to think straight for an unexpected moment (she’s not supposed to be here) (she’s not supposed to be doing this) (it will be her undoing). She keeps quiet, she kisses him back wet and vigorously and needy until he starts undoing the knot in the front of her corset, almost tearing it in two halves.

She stops him.

She releases her grip on his hair and traces her hands down his sculpted chest. It hurts her to be so tied to the rules, but she doesn’t want it to happen this way (she doesn’t want to let them down) (not today).

_Fact: it takes her a long time to get dressed before a ball, and she has at least half a dozen maids to help her._

_Fact: she can’t get out of the corset and possibly think of being even remotely presentable soon after._

She’s ready for every reaction from his part. Every reaction but the one that follows, with him still grinning at her but in a challenging way, now letting her down on her feet while he places a chaste kiss on the back of her hand.

“At your services, my princess.”

 

***

 

It takes them longer than her usual to get back to the castle. (She walks slow, not wanting that rush and excitement to leave her body as she leaves the forest) (he looks at her movements ready to cross off any kind of danger they might encounter in the dark) (they both forget for a while that he’s that danger).

Before going in they stop at the back of the castle, still outside. Her cheeks are flushed and he’s the one who fixes her hair, slowly caressing her head where her hair is out of place.  
She’s the one making sure his shirt was not all buttoned up, touching his skin and leaving burning spots on him.

(They almost forget to put her cape back in his place) (it takes them longer than the time they needed when they came to get it).

(The thing is that she sees him leaning against the doorframe once again and this time she can’t help but walk to him and gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling him down towards her lips, savoring him and pushing her body against his, while his hand cups her cheek and his other arm goes around her small waist in order to hold her close to him.)

(It’s hard for both of them to let go) (especially when her bed is just a couple of feet away).

When they are back in the great hall Jemma must have performed one of her tricks because both of her parents and her tutor (she makes a mental note to thank the sky later when she’s in bed) greet her happily like she’s never been away (sir Ward is in the other side of the room, talking to some Countess who’s had too much to drink to remember for how long she’s been chatting with the charming knight by her side) (terror flashes through her when she is reminded by her father about Lord Garrett) (same terror that fades when she spots the man engaged in a conversation with Fitz).

(She’s sneaking in the kitchens when this is over and bringing her friends food in their chambers.)

It goes smooth from then on: her father gives his usual birthday speech praising her, Jemma cries, Fitz applauds earnestly, and sir Ward eyes her with a thirsty look from the far side of the room where he’s standing, leaning with his shoulder on the wall.

(They dance again that night, and she doesn’t care about the whispers.)

(They dance again that night, and she doesn’t care about the fact that they’re too close to each other than how they’re supposed to.)

When the guests start to leave, Lord Garrett is one of the last ones who are still in the room with the royal family and their court. Skye doesn’t catch his father’s exchange with his former ally, but she spies a handshake and their smiles. When the Lord gets to her, he bids goodbye with a bow, accompanied with his regards.

“Milady.”, sir Ward follows, and as he bends down he takes Skye’s hand and presses his lips against it, leaving another kiss.

“Sir, please.”, but she only lets herself smile once he’s back up again, towering her. She’s sure her mischievous smirk reaches his eyes, but he knows better than to betray the two of them with a reaction.

It’s Lord Garrett who breaks the moment, exclaiming with his full voice a “come on, Casanova!” when he’s already a few feet far.

The last image princess Skye has of the knight, it’s of him fixing the buttons of his shirt.

 

***

 

When she reaches the dining area the next day to eat breakfast with her parents, she finds her father already sitting at the table waiting for her. She furrows her brows, unsure of what’s to come (she just hopes they weren’t just acting the night before when she came back after she went missing), but the king just shrugs and tells her to sit down.

“Ms. Hand was very happy with your behavior yesterday night.”, he says, and Skye has to keep herself from dropping her fork on her clean dress.

“Does that mean I passed the test and I don’t have to attend all those balls anymore?”, she asks hopefully. Her father’s smile should’ve been a warning for what was to come.

“Oh, no, she personally asked me and your mother to take you to other social gatherings with us since you’ve improved so much.”

This time she really does drop the fork.

(She eavesdrops a kitchen girl talking about an event at Lord Garrett’s manor later that day) (maybe these occurrences wouldn’t be that bad after all).

 


End file.
